


Indulgence

by Terminallydepraved



Series: Works for Others [64]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Hank Anderson, Consensual Somnophilia, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Fluff and Smut, Human Connor, M/M, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, reverse!au - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25311043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: Turns out androids don't dream of electric sheep, but of fucking their boyfriends while they dream instead. Connor, of course, is only too happy to oblige.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Works for Others [64]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/378145
Comments: 34
Kudos: 242





	Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gildedfrost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/gifts).



> woot hope yall like some reverse au hankcon since its been a dog's age since i last wrote it

Detective Connor Arkay had been asleep for four hours when HK800— Hank, he self-corrected, erasing that line of internal code and rewriting it with a truer self-identification—ceased feigning stasis and gave in to the urge to sit up. The dawn was still a while away, the workday distant enough that he shouldn’t feel the need to be active and aware just yet, but he still found his thoughts hard to silence. 

They weren’t particularly heavy thoughts. All of their casework was squared away for the moment thanks to some late hours and dedicated investigation. Hank sometimes spent the nights calculating probabilities and narrowing down suspect trees, but tonight he didn’t have anything like that to lull him into what he considered a doze.

Not for the first time, Hank wondered if this was similar to the insomnia Connor suffered from most nights. The racing thoughts, the… inability to “turn off” as he put it. The room was dark but Hank could see without issue. A dozen observations scrolled past his eyes unbidden. If it was, maybe he could understand Connor better than he first thought. There really was no way to turn any of this off. At least, no way short of forcing himself to power down, and that simply wasn’t an option. 

Shifting on the bed, Hank let the blankets pool into his lap as he turned to look at the body sleeping away next to him. It was pretty ironic that Connor was dead to the world when he wasn’t, a clear reversal of the roles they’d adopted ever since being assigned to one another. Back then it had been Hank falling into stasis after seeing the detective to bed, only to rouse himself six hours later and find Connor  _ out  _ of bed and at the kitchen table, half hidden behind a pile of case files he hadn’t been permitted to bring home or work on by himself. 

_ “I can’t sleep if there’s something to do,”  _ Connor had snapped at him when he had tried to force the human into bed.  _ “You wouldn’t understand, Hank. It’s not like you need to sleep.” _

Hank didn’t need to sleep, but it did help his processors stay unburdened. He wasn’t as efficient without at least some rest every few days. A lack of efficiency affected all of them. It affected their work, their relationship status… Hank rubbed at his eyes, copying one of Connor’s more ever present mannerisms. This really was ironic. If Connor was awake he would probably be laughing at him right about now. 

As if in response to the thought, Connor rolled over, mumbling something unintelligible as he found a more comfortable position. Hank dropped his hand to watch, always so endlessly fascinated by everything the detective did, awake and otherwise. A sleeping Connor wasn’t a Connor Hank was overly familiar with. It brought with it a lot of new things to catalogue, so Hank decided that maybe it was okay to forgo rest for the moment. 

Thoughts of Connor were keeping him awake; why not give in the urge to indulge? 

Like clockwork, that single thought brought with it a deluge of new associations. Indulgement. That was a word that held a lot of weight, especially after they had taken up together in a physical sense. The descent into deviancy had come to him like a forgone conclusion more than some kind of monumental watershed moment. Connor was… vibrant. Painfully human, and so beautiful in ways that even Hank couldn’t quite quantify. It didn’t surprise him when he found his eyes drawn to the sight of Connor’s nape, the pale slope of his shoulder before it disappeared beneath the sheets. It was natural. Expected. 

Hank didn’t need to, but he still glanced at the glowing clock situated on the nightstand. It read as 4:39 a.m. Six minute off, Hank corrected. His own internal clock read 4:45. 

They had spoken about it before,  _ indulging  _ in this kind of way. They had to at the beginning of their relationship when Hank hadn’t known any context. Connor had made it clear that there was a tacit sort of agreement between them that stated this sort of contact was welcome, desired even. Certain acts were off limits without prior discussion, like things in public or when they involved restraints or toys. But some things… Some things didn’t need permission. Connor found it thrilling when Hank picked him up without warning, when the blindfolds came out. 

Once, Connor had broached the topic of somnophilia with him. They had been in bed together and Connor had been on the cusp of falling asleep, still wet from multiple orgasms. He’d smiled as he spoke, mumbling about how he wouldn’t mind it if Hank kept fucking him like that, even after he fell asleep. If Hank used him like a toy. If he woke up with Hank still buried inside him, fucking him senseless. 

Hank hadn’t really understood it then, but he liked touching Connor. He hadn’t thought about  _ doing  _ it before, not before now, but if Connor wanted it…

Drawing his hand down Connor’s bare back, Hank assessed his options. Connor had been sleeping better lately, thanks to more than a little intervention on Hank’s part. Before he would have never considered potentially interrupting the meager sleep the detective managed to get in such a way, but now… Connor could probably sacrifice a few hours for the sake of some alternative stress relief. It wouldn’t negatively impact his performance the way it might have a few months ago. 

It was getting harder and harder to resist the urge. Hank shifted on the bed, careful not to disturb Connor’s side. Should he? Should he not? They had talked about it before but Hank had never found himself in a position to seriously consider it. His own sex drive was still developing, and it usually flared to life in response to Connor’s more often than not. Connor would mention his interest or do something provocative to make it clear what it was he wanted. There was nothing outwardly provocative in how the detective slept though. The growing, persistent urge in Hank was all him then, and it was up to him to figure out how to deal with it. 

He began by tugging at the sheet until he could see more of Connor than just his shoulders. The room wasn’t cold, but it was cool enough that it elicited a shiver once the blanket was pooled low on Connor’s thighs. Ever since they had begun sharing the bed, Connor had insisted on them sleeping naked. It didn’t make much sense to Hank. What if there was a fire or some sort of emergency? It was impractical, but Hank supposed he couldn’t complain too much at a time like this. It gave him a lot to look at, and that was always nice.

Looking was nice, but touching was better. Hank chased away the chill with his hand, running it lightly down the detective’s smooth back and along his flank, squeezing gently to feel the muscle hidden behind soft, fragile skin. Connor didn’t stir, not really. He shifted a little and let out a sleepy little murmur. His heart rate slowed a little more. Hank assumed the touch was soothing, so he did it again to elicit the same reaction. One stroke turned to two. Then three. Then four. Like counting sheep, Hank counted the points of contact between them, punctuating the tenth with a kiss. 

Hank leaned down and pressed another to Connor’s mussed hair, brushing a few locks aside to take in the sight of his sleeping face. Connor’s cheek was pressed into his pillow, his arms folded beneath his head. Soft, somnolent puffs of air signalled his slow breathing, stirring the fine hairs on his arm. Hank doubted any human would notice such trivial details, but in the darkness of the room, in the silence of the night, his awareness of such things were heightened to an alarming degree. Everything about Connor called to him like this, and he could touch now if he wanted to. There were no rules saying he couldn’t, no countering imperatives telling him to stand in the corner and wait until morning for work to begin.

Hank stalled for about twenty seconds as that thought rolled over him. The dull light coming off his LED went from blue to red to blue again, and the second it did was the second he gave up the pretense of deciding how far he was willing to take things. Connor had given him permission. He wanted this, and Hank was a deviant now. He was allowed to want it too. 

It was a simple thing to let the sheet fall off the bed and pool on the floor, baring Connor completely. It was a little harder to reposition himself over Connor’s prone body without alerting him to what he was about to do. The movement of Connor’s eyes behind his pale eyelids told Hank that he was deep in REM sleep. He let that dictate his movements, half of his processors locked on Connor’s biological signals while the other half fixated on recording this experience for later analysis. 

Hank was thankful the detective was a heavy sleeper when he did manage to sleep, because Connor didn’t even twitch when Hank coaxed his legs apart. He didn’t stir as the android settled himself between his thighs, spreading his ass to bare him to the cool room. 

Hank let out an unnecessary breath, feeling his processors begin to put out additional heat as something strange whirled through him. He’d tenuously labeled that feeling as ‘desire’, and just looking at Connor seemed to be enough to incite it in him these days. Connor was good at that though. He was good at bringing out new feelings in Hank that he hadn’t thought were possible for him to experience. The door to deviancy had been open to him for awhile now, but moments like these made sure he never forgot just how much Connor had changed him in the short time they had known one another. 

Sighing, Hank couldn’t help but smile. Connor was easy to fall for. He was easy to love. His bad habits, his workaholic tendencies, his caffeine addiction… He was so unerringly human that Hank couldn’t help but want to be closer to him. He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Connor’s inner thigh. A bevy of new observations littered his vision at the touch. Connor’s body temperature, his respiration, the progression of his circadian cycle…

Gently, slowly, Hank let his mouth wander, drawing kisses and careful licks along Connor’s inner thigh. He didn’t want to disturb Connor’s sleep if he could help it, so it was paramount that anything he did now stayed gentle and smooth so as to maintain REM sleep for as long as possible. While his mouth wandered, he let his fingers slowly trail down the crack of Connor’s ass, ghosting over his flesh until he found Connor’s mound. His touch was light when he drew his fingers over Connor’s clit. His sensors picked up the slightest uptick to the detective’s heart rate, but beyond that no reaction came from the touch. 

It was pretty different from how Connor reacted when awake. Usually Hank had to hold the detective down to keep him from bucking into the air. Connor was impatient in bed, almost unruly. He knew what he liked and how he liked it, and Hank had to work hard to keep up with him at times. To see Connor still was different, new. Hank could take his time like this and really catalogue all he wanted. He drew his fingers over the same path again, just to feel the soft flutter of damp flesh against his skin. 

Connor would never let him move this slowly in bed. Hank felt his core temperature heat up a few degrees at the thought of getting to satisfy that particular urge. Maybe there was something to be said about this kink after all. 

He spent several minutes just stroking Connor, varying the firmness and duration, taking his time as he teased Connor towards arousal. He was gentle at first, then a little more persistent when Connor began to grow wetter the more he touched. Soon, his fingers were slick. He took that as his cue to dip the tip of one finger inside. 

If they were up to their usual games, now would be the time where Connor would grab at his shoulders or hair, lock his legs around Hank’s waist, and he order him to cut it out with the foreplay and just fuck him already. He’d do everything he could to get Hank to do it too, no matter how dedicated he was to taking things slow or warming Connor up properly. He’d turn his eyes wet and big, bite down on his bottom lip,  _ plead—  _

The Connor in front of him now didn’t fuss at all. He was docile and quiet, breathing a little heavier but still well within the normal range for slumber. Hank worked two fingers inside him before hearing the first makings of a moan, and he paused then, letting Connor clenched and shift, body rousing while the rest of him stayed firmly locked in dreamland. 

And that was nice. Objectively, it was  _ nice  _ that Hank didn’t have to rush things at all. One of the very first things he realized about himself post-deviancy (and even prior to it if he had allowed himself to really analyze the thoughts and misfiring impulses he’d had in the days leading up to it) was that he liked touching Connor. Taking things slow meant increased touching, prolonged contact. Connor was always so tired. They would finish fucking and the detective would fall to sleep immediately, ending the proverbial conversation before Hank had satisfied himself. But like this… Like this, he could keep up the fun for as long as he wanted. 

Hank sank his fingers into Connor and hooked them, dragging them out with consummate care. Connor was really starting to heat up now, his body twitching and his hips rocking ever so slightly into Hank’s hand. He probably thought he was having a wet dream, one of the rare ones that only happened when he was sleeping deeply. Hank angled one of Connor’s thighs to the side a little more and positioned his mouth near his working hand. He let his tongue join the party gradually and marveled at the newness of eating Connor out without having the man rock back at him hard enough to break his artificial nose. 

The wetness between Connor’s legs increased tenfold, coating Hank’s beard and dripping down his fingers. Could he bring Connor to orgasm like this without waking him up? A quick query told him that he probably couldn’t, and the desire to do more was too great to test the odds now. Hank eased up with his fingers and went deeper with his tongue, alternating between penetrating licks and teasing little kisses. 

The thighs in his hands were twitching like crazy now, still such a muted reaction compared to what he was used to. Hank lifted Connor’s hips slowly, elevating his lower half to keep him from rutting against the bedding. A quick look told him there was a damp patch on the bed already; he would have to change the sheets once they were done, but that was a problem for later, not now. He kept up his ministrations until Connor’s heartbeat reached a rate just on the cusp of rousing him. Then, he pulled away.

Connor, pliant and poised for more, remained on his knees even as Hank stopped propping him up. His pussy was flushed and wet, twitching and clenching around nothing. Hank ran a hand down his beard, feeling how slick the hair there had gotten in such a short stint between the man’s legs. Hank smiled to himself, pleased, and wrapped his damp hand around his own shaft, coating himself in it. 

This would probably be what woke Connor up, so Hank thought it prudent to take a moment to appreciate the picture in front of him. No thrusting, whining, or insistent bossyness. Just Connor, quiet, wanting, and still. A feast for his sensors that he could appreciate for as long as he wanted. Hank had had his reservations going into this, but just seeing this in front of him put those worries to rest. He would have to thank Connor for that later. Leave it to the detective to turn him onto even more interests. 

Lifting himself onto his knees, Hank sidled up behind Connor, slowly lowering the detective back onto his stomach. Too much jostling would just wake him prematurely. Once Connor was prone, Hank lowered himself on one arm, the other wrapped around his cock. He rocked softly against Connor’s ass, sliding wetly between the cleft to tease the head of his cock against Connor’s soft, pliant entrance. It fluttered around the tip, eliciting a soft mumble from Connor’s lips. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Hank heard himself whisper, the first words he’d spoken aloud since they had gone to bed over five hours ago. 

“‘ank,” came the quiet, sleep-steeped reply. Connor smacked his lips a little, fingers tightening in the sheets. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing deep and quick. “Mmm?”

Pressing a kiss to Connor’s shoulder, Hank soothed him back to sleep with a few strokes to his hair. This human would be the death of him, of that he was absolutely sure. 

With that in mind, Hank began to feed his cock to Connor slowly, aware that now would be the highest chance of Connor waking up. He braced himself carefully and let the physical sensations wash over him, signalling in his head like the ringing of church bells. Connor was warm and wet and tight, enveloping him perfectly. He had never been able to appreciate the feeling like this before; by the time they got to this point in the evening, Hank was lucky to have a second or two to enjoy it before Connor clawed at his back and begged him to start moving. 

Just to spurn the thought, Hank bottomed out and stayed perfectly motionless for a full minute. Connor, even fast asleep, still told him to hurry in his own way. His body was clenching and shifting, chasing friction without even knowing what was going on. Hank lowered himself slowly, hovering over Connor’s back just enough to feel him without putting weight on him. He pressed kisses to the detective’s wild, sleep-mussed hair and tasted the sweat on his turned cheek. 

This peaceful slowness wouldn’t last much longer. Connor’s respiration was increasing by the minute, hiccuping and tripping over itself when Hank finally pulled out half an inch and rocked forward. He braced his arms on either side of Connor’s prone body and let out a heated breath of his own. It felt so good to go slow. He would have to convince Connor to let him do this when he was awake sometime. He’d get out the restraints if he had to. Anything to have Connor patient and pliant, to feel this much for as long as he could take it. 

Hank froze when the body beneath him let out a weak moan. He looked down, relaxing when he saw that Connor’s eyes were still closed. His lips were parted now, his breathing labored. Hank rocked forward experimentally and was rewarded with another small sound. He smiled, inordinately pleased with himself. Connor was feeling good. If he was going to wake up from this, Hank wanted it to be from the pleasure. 

Forward and back. Forward and back. The pace increased while the force stayed the same. There was something so gradual in the way Connor awoke that made it feel as if it had been his own moans that had roused him rather than Hank’s cock. That little stutter in his cry, the fluttering of his lashes in the darkness— Connor curled his fingers into the bedding and arched his spine, sputtering as he clenched down on Hank’s shaft, his bemused, questioning exhale of, “What?” partially lost in the haze of waking up. 

“Morning, Connor,” Hank recited as he rolled his hips forward, slow and deep. He gave in to the urge to drag his beard against the back of the detective’s neck, nuzzling him as he pinned Connor firmly to the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Connor clawed at the sheets. He groaned wetly and closed his eyes, thighs trembling as he tightened erratically, sending a flood of sensory notifications over Hank’s visual display. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Hank. What are you doing?”

Hank stopped moving, lifting himself into a push-up position so he hovered away from Connor’s back, no longer pinning him. His LED cast a red haze over Connor’s body. “Was… Should I not have done this?”

Connor laughed, easing the tension and sirens beginning to ring inside Hank’s head. A hand wrapped around his wrist and squeezed it weakly. “It’s fine,” Connor whispered, shifting against the bed as his mind struggled to catch up with his already enervated body. “Oh, god, Hank, please. It’s fine. Keep going. I want more.”

To prove his point, Hank registered a sudden burst of wetness around his length. His LED cycled to yellow, and he slowly began to move again. Connor buried a moan into the pillow, struggling to brace his knees on the bed for better leverage. Hank helped him along by wrapping a hand around his hip and lifting. In the span of just a couple of seconds Connor went from lazy and weak to rigid and gasping.

Despite Hank’s slow, gradual indulgence, he couldn’t help but smile at Connor’s enthusiastic response. Words were a little beyond him at the moment, but Connor made his desire known by rocking back and arching his spine. His grip on Hank’s wrist was tight, squeezing all the tighter when Hank gave in to the urge to go a little faster, a little harder. The bed began to rock against the wall, a quiet thudding that punctuated Connor’s sharp gasps. 

“C-Can’t believe you actually went for it,” Connor laughed, the words rising in pitch as Hank went even harder in hopes of dissuading conversation. Of course, it didn’t work. Hank hadn’t quite gotten the hang of lost causes yet, but if he kept close to Connor like this he’d probably learn sooner or later. “Oh, god. H-Hank! Fuck, Hank. More. Fuck me more. Harder, come on, do it, do it—”

Yeah, the silence was gone and so was the time to be restrained. Hank let out a low sigh and put his back into it, fucking the detective hard enough to buckle his arms out from under him and send him face first and ass up into the bed. The hot, heavy, wet sounds of damp skin connecting with damp skin filled the thick air in the room. Connor’s words morphed into inarticulate cries, his body a livewire of responses that lit up the back of Hank’s analysis windows until he was burning inside and out. 

And it felt good. It had felt nice fucking Connor before, but like this… as much as Hank liked taking his time, there really was nothing quite like having Connor so out of his head like this. Blind to the world around him, begging, wanting nothing but more of Hank and what he could make him feel. It was a powerful feeling, utterly human and woefully debilitating. Hank gripped Connor by the hips hard enough to bruise him (another thing Connor loved) and fucked him so hard that the dull thuds turned into harsh cracks as the bedframe connected with the wall. 

“Hank— Hank!” Connor sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks as his walls clenched around Hank like a vice grip.

“I know,” Hank said, voice still measured despite his insides screaming at him that he was going to overheat at this rate. “Come for me, Connor. You can do it. I know you can.” 

Connor’s eyes rolled back in his head as his body arched. He had been primed on the edge for longer than he had probably ever been before, impatient creature that he was, and it only took a few more thrusts after that to send him into a long awaited orgasm. Connor came with a sharp, ragged cry, his entire body tensing before falling to the bed in a heap. Hank kept going, knowing how much Connor liked it when he finished inside him. His own orgasm rose in a wave and cascaded over him in the same way. It deadened his senses and stuttered his ongoing processes. 

“Oh, my god,” Connor wheezed beneath him, his voice like a light in the darkness. Hank opened his eyes and pulled out, watching as the artificial release coursed down the detective’s inner thighs to pool on the bed beneath him. “Oh, my god. Hank, you’ve ruined me. Fucking christ.”

Hank tried not to miss how quiet Connor had been while asleep. This was charming too, but sometimes less was more. “I take it you had a good time then?” he asked instead of complaining, easing himself onto his side when Connor grew impatient and started fidgeting beneath him, clearing wanting to sit up. The rest must have done him wonders. Usually, Connor was out of commission for an hour or so after an orgasm like that.

“That was too good,” Connor complained, smacking his hand against Hank’s bare thigh. Hank still helped him upright, bracing a hand behind his back to deposit him into a sprawled out seated position. The pout on his face was at odds with the laugh in his eyes. “I’m going to have to call in sick now. How am I supposed to face the world after knowing you fucked me awake?”

A better question would be how was Hank supposed to keep his hands to himself now that he knew how good a kink like this was. Connor still needed to sleep and it wasn’t as if Hank could just fuck him while he slept whenever he wanted. He would have to make sure he brought home plenty of things to work on for the next week, just to make sure he kept himself occupied during the night hours. Connor probably wouldn’t complain too loudly about more sex and less sleep, but someone had to be the responsible one.

That role would naturally always fall to Hank, clearly. 

“Connor,” Hank said sternly, watching as the detective twisted around to reach for his phone on the nightstand. Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, lighting up the room until it had a bit more color. They had a few more hours yet before they were expected to be in the office. Plenty of time for Connor to go back to sleep and get in more rest. “You aren’t sick.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Hank,” the man muttered, typing away at the screen furiously. He paused, glancing at Hank over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going to rat me out, are you?”

Hank stared at the pale expanse of Connor’s back, at the way the early morning light turned his skin to gold. Connor rubbed at his eyes and Hank’s sensors lit up with the thousands of little statistics and distracting observations that made up his understanding of this human being. Temperature, respiration, heartbeat, blood pressure— 

_ System instability. _

“No,” Hank decided, moving towards Connor like a flower chasing the rays of a transient sun. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s middle and buried his face in the man’s hair. It was illogical and everything he wasn’t supposed to want, and yet, here he was. Wanting it anyway. He smiled, hiding it in Connor’s soft hair. “I won’t.”

Perhaps they would both call in sick today. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it! if you did, consider leaving a nice comment to let me know, and if youre interested in seeing more of me and my work check me out on twitter @tdcloud_writes and on my website tdcloudofficial.com! until next time!


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